


Strange and Silent

by carrionkid



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Autistic Character, Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-24 20:55:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12020826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrionkid/pseuds/carrionkid
Summary: well, all of this happened because I headcanon near as autistic. this is kind of a character study, kind of a fleshed out headcanon. it takes place after the manga/anime and deals with people making assumptions about his competency based on the way he acts.--People often underestimate him. It’s helpful in his line of work, a suspect won’t know he’s close until the right moment. It gives him space to work, a figurative spot to step back and work on picking them apart, until he can take them apart and put them back together. Each person is a puzzle, there are similarities across the board but ultimately, the picture is unique. He’s cultivated an extensive mental inventory of almost all the little movements, the quirks, the tells, that a human being can have and can usually reliably tell what they mean in combination.





	Strange and Silent

People often underestimate him. It’s helpful in his line of work, a suspect won’t know he’s close until the right moment. It gives him space to work, a figurative spot to step back and work on picking them apart, until he can take them apart and put them back together. Each person is a puzzle, there are similarities across the board but ultimately, the picture is unique. He’s cultivated an extensive mental inventory of almost all the little movements, the quirks, the tells, that a human being can have and can usually reliably tell what they mean in combination. 

 

But, being underestimated only works if it’s under his control. There are whispers, always have been, always will be, spoken carefully when the people doing the whispering assume they’re adequately far away from him. But, Near hears everything. Soft voices that sound sharp as a knife, questioning, questioning, questioning. 

 

 _That’s_ ** _him?_** _How old is this kid?_ _Can he really help us? What’s_ ** _wrong_** _with him?_

 

Not just the whispers, no. It’s impossible for him to hear  _ everything,  _ but he hears significantly more than the others. The ticktickticktick of watches, wind ghosting over the siding of the building, and cars speeding by and horns and the click clack click clack of heels on tile and the electrical buzz of the computer screens and the lights flickering overhead, on-off-on-off, almost imperceptible and people talk-talk-talking, words lost among everything else. Everywhere, all the time, the heartbeat of a world in constant motion, a song spiraling into entropy.

 

Sometimes, he wants to scream. Claw at his skin and pull his hair and scream until everything else is quieter than the noise he’s choosing to make. But, that’s counterintuitive to his goal of convincing everyone else of his competency, so he settles for destroying whatever’s in his hands. He can always afford to replace it. Most of the others don’t even notice when he does it; only Lidner and Rester and Gevanni know the significance. He doesn’t have to prove his competency to them, they’ve seen it firsthand. 

 

In a post-Kira world, he is expected to show his face. In many ways it’s easier, he doesn’t have to listen for the quirk up at the end of a question or the quavering tone that signifies anxiety or fear or dishonesty. People are much easier to understand when he can see them move. He’s learned many languages and mastered all of them, except for one. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t move like them or talk like them. 

 

Othering himself wasn’t a conscious choice, not at first, but at this point, it’s become second nature. He can emulate the inflection, feign the movements, but it’s exhausting. However perturbed others may be by his mannerisms, they soon learn it’s either accept him and have him thinking clearly or force him to mimic them and suffer the consequences.

 

It didn’t really matter at first, all that mattered was finding a logical resolution, a way in which all the pieces fit together. He doesn’t consider himself one for confrontation, rather others seem far too eager to create a confrontation and endeavor to involve him in it. Still, everyone has a line, a breaking point.

 

He stands up, shuffles over to the people who asked him to help yet spent the majority of the first days ignoring him. When the first one, a woman, notices him, she jumps back like she’s seen a ghost. He’s always been described as silent. Silent and strange. Both an accurate assessment of him. 

 

If he wasn’t strange, he would’ve had friends as opposed to Mello, flip-flopping between acquaintance and opponent. As for silent, there are times he can’t speak. There is a term for it, being nonverbal, but he always describes it as losing his words, hoping whoever he’s explaining it to notes it as something outside of his control rather than a personal failure. Losing something has a better connotation than simply being unable to do something considered so trivial. 

 

When a majority of the group is looking at him, he speaks, twirling a finger in his hair, “I am an adult and I’d like to be treated accordingly.”

 

A man speaks up, “But--”

 

Near holds his hand up, signalling for silence, “If you question my competence, I can always leave. I’ve proven myself many times in the past and I feel no need to prove myself to you. But, I have a feeling you need me. So I will stay, but you will accomodate me and respect me. Those are my conditions.”

 

Leaning against the wall, behind the group of people, Lidner smiles at him. A little half smile, one that usually denotes pride, though it’s more likely she’s proud on his behalf. It would be demeaning coming from anyone else, making a mockery of him taking matters into his own hands, but it’s comforting coming from her. He smiles back, not meeting her eyes, but she knows better than to take it as an insult.


End file.
